


Marooned

by criminalwriting



Category: Criminal Minds, Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 22:29:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14778482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/criminalwriting/pseuds/criminalwriting
Summary: REQUEST: Imagine where you are kidnapped, and abused by the unsub, then the team finds you.





	Marooned

As her eyes slowly open, the dim lights above burning them as she tries to make sense of the figures and shapes before her. Had she had the energy, Y/N would have called out. Tried to find answers before reality could take a hold. But in every sense of the word, she was trapped.

“Do you know where you are?” His voice, like steels cold edge, calls gently from the corner of the room. And she didn’t need to see him to know who it belongs to. The thought alone would have been enough to drive a whimper from her, but now, especially now, she knew that she couldn’t show fear in the face of a sadist. “Will you not speak to me? You seemed so eager before.” Letting out a low chuckle, his blurred figure stepping towards her, a soft hand stroking her cheek, the stench of stale sea water practically drowning her as he lingers on his touch. The man letting out a choking cough, his breath hot on her skin before he steps way, his feet pounding on the floor as he slams the door behind him.

Now alone with nothing but the burn in her eyes and the ache in her head to keep her company. But now wasn’t the time for self-pity. Y/N knows that she must survive this, outlast if possible. Escape is she can.

But how?

_“From the security footage we established where the unsub was keeping his victims.” Derek explained, looking back to Y/N with a kind smile. Tilting the screen towards her and letting her inspect it closer. “Think you could tell me how?”_

_“Don’t you already know that?” She laughs back before taking a serious response to his question. He’d been helping her for weeks now, and every time she’d come away feeling more confident in her new job._

_“So do you, kid.”_

_Y/N screwed her face up, watching the video for a few seconds longer. Her eyes flickering between the woman and the room. Then she saw it, the light swinging softly, rocking itself to unseen force. “The light?” She looks to Derek, his head nodding as he encouraged her to expand on it. “It’s moving. Which means that the unsub is most likely keeping her on something that moves. Maybe a truck. But the room isn’t shaped like a truck, to wide. So maybe he’s keeping her on some sort of body of water. We can narrow down where or what by looking at boats or storage containers listed in the suspect’s name. Then pretty much good to go.”_

_Derek gives her a proud nod, standing up from his chair and giving her a gentle nudge. “See, we’ll make a profiler of you yet.”_

 

Looking around, she lets her eyes adjust to what little light the room gives. The only light being those that hum in their cages on the wall. Her heart sinking briefly as she realises the light won’t help her. She begins searching each darkened corner for anything to tell her where she’s being kept.

In the Silence surrounding her, she finds nothing. Panic setting in as her breathing grows increasingly agitated, Y/N beginning to struggle against the bindings that keep her to the chair. Her once kind eyes now panicked as they dart around the room.

Until, she sees it. Or more hears. The tapping of a water bottle as it rolls against the wall, repeatedly knocking against the steel as it gently rolls back and forth, not loud enough or big enough to be easily noticed, but now that she had, it was all she could hear.

“Water” The words struggle against the dryness of her throat, cracking as the word meets the stagnant air. Water meant she knew where she was. God knows how long she’d been out. But it couldn’t have been longer than a day, and by that she knew it was one of three places.

Proud of herself, she feels the weight lift from her shoulders, her heartbeat steadying itself as she looks across the room. Figuring her next move.

 

_  
“What do you think, Y/N?” Emily asks, stepping back from the crime scene. Allowing Y/N the chance to step forward and examine it._

_It was a small scene, a young woman bludgeoned to death in a shipping container. She was younger than Y/N, and as she looked to her eyes now devoid of whatever it is that life brought to them, then it hits her. The scene was different to the other murders, her eyes weren’t covered. Coins were tossed into the puddle of blood under her. There was no ritual. The woman was strewn across the floor, with no manner of respect in the torn layers of her Sunday dress._

_“It’s different to the other scenes. Disorganised, the unsub clearly didn't’ plan to kill her. At least not now.”_

_“So, what changed?” Emily asks, following Y/N with her eyes as she inspects the scene._

_“It looks like the victim managed to escape. The ligature marks around her wrist seem to match the rope we found discarded a few miles from here. Which suggests he found her loose, she tried to escape, and he panicked. Picking up the first thing he finds and attacking her.”_

_“How did she escape?” She continues to prompt answers from Y/N, trying to flesh out the details of what she already knows. At this however, Y/N frowns unsure of herself. There was no evidence of her using any tool to help her. And the unsub had held her for several days before she made an attempt to escape, so the rope must have been tied well enough for her to stay bound for that time. She looks closer, kneeling down and looking at the torn flesh on her wrists, the skin cut deep on her wrists, the blood had pooled and dried in her hands._

_“She forced her way out. Just pulled until her wrists were free. Must have hurt a fucking lot. I imagine a portion of the blood isn’t from her being bludgeoned.” Y/N responds after a short while, touching her own wrists._

She gingerly feels for the bindings, feeling only plastic rather than the rope she’d expected. “Fuck” Y/N mumbles, pulling on them until she feels the tie digging into her skin. She tries to pull through it, tugging until it hurts too much to continue. She knew that she’d need to continue if she were to get free.

The bottle tapping on the wall has grown tiring, irritating as it doesn’t stop just taps and taps against the steel. And it gives her an idea. She begins rocking against the chair, the legs tilting from side to side, Y/N falling to the floor and letting out a large groan, not wasting time in using the floor to help pull her arms from around the back of the chair, kicking it as far away from her as possible.

Relief filling her smile as she gives out an almost delirious laugh. Y/N was this much closer to escaping. To surviving. She tucks her knees to her chest as she pulls her wrists in front of herself, sitting up and chewing on the ties.

_“How did you survive?” Y/N asks gingerly, avoiding Spencer’s eye as she idly stirs her coffee, almost ashamed of her own curiosity._

_Spencer’s voice is quieter than usual. Softer somehow. But he didn’t show the same nervousness that she did. “I tried to understand him, help him. It worked, kind of. He resuscitated me after he… but it’s hard to tell whether that was because of me or his own guilt.”_

_They’d been together for months now, the two of them had shared their tender moments, spilled their secrets and shown the sides of each other they’d never dare show. In those moments, he’d told her of Tobias. And for a month she’d turned down her own curiosity, sure that she’d just further upset him by bringing it up. But it was Spencer that had come to her._

_“I survived because I outlasted him. I helped the team to find me, I knew that if I could help them find me, they would.”_

_Y/N looks away slightly, as close as she felt to the team and as long as she’d been there, she wanted to trust them. But a situation had never occurred for her to need to. Sure, she’d gone with their gut instincts on a case, or trusted them to have her back. But she couldn’t imagine trust being the sole survivor against an unsub._

_“But what if trust isn’t an option?”_

_Spencer frowns slightly, shaking his head and moving closer to Y/N, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder, “In the BAU, sometimes it’s all that we have.”_

She could practically hear Spencer as she thought of him and she wondered whether he’d be right, even if she did die in this steel box, whether they would find her. In the silence around her, she lets out a small whimper, her eyes burning no longer with a dry ache but with tears. She gives herself this moment, a small moment to let out a cry of pity and hope. At least, she thought, that if she died here she’d be thinking of her family, of the BAU. Of her boyfriend, of Spencer. The person who had held her close, given his trust to her.

And in that moment of weakness she found strength. She didn’t want to leave him alone. She wanted to still be there for their sci-fi marathons, and she wanted to be around for the nights the BAU would go out together, she’d miss the laughter of Garcia as she’d bring out pitchers of some ungodly sweet cocktail. So, she began to fight.

Pulling harder than she ever had on the ties, driving her elbows to her hips in hopes that it’d break the plastic, to no avail. Y/N stopping cold, dropping her hands to her lap as the door opens. The stench following the man as he walks in, fixated on her. 

“Where do you think you’re going miss?” He walks over to her and pulls her up by her wrists. She struggles against him, kicking and squirming in an attempt to break free. Not that she even knew her next move, knowing that it’d be suicide to make a run whilst her hands were still tied.

“Fuck you” She spits at him, pulling her wrists from his grip and kicking away only to be grabbed back instantly, this time with his arm around her neck, and a gun to her temple 

Trust, she thought, seemed a lot harder when you were a fingers move from death. But it seemed easier to hope. Hope that Spencer was right. Hope that the team acted in the trust she was too scared to give them.

With the steel pressed to her temple, and his breath hot on her neck, she closes her eyes and lets out a shallow breath. A bang outside drawing his attention from her, the man letting out a shout as the door to the container bursts open.

“FBI drop your weapon.” She knew the voice, recognised it as Hotch’s and in a second, she had belief that she’d survive this. Feeling almost foolish for doubting them. But the man just laughs, cocking his gun as he tightens the grip around her neck, his cold eyes challenging the family in front of them.


End file.
